Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
I spot the reporter hovering in the background. I need to get this dog and pony show over. “Ask your questions,” I order.
I guess she doesn’t like the tone of my voice because the question that zips out silences the whole room. “There’s a rumor that you have a throat problem that is exacerbated by your smoking. Are you trying to ruin your voice, or is it a cover for a deeper addiction?”
Chris moves toward her, but I motion for him to stop. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”
“Throat sounded good for two hours out there. You be the judge.”
She asks a few other questions, which I dodge. The photographs that were only supposed to take a second last fifteen minutes. I give up smiling after the third one. There’s gonna be some rumor about me being an asshole to fans, but at this point, I don’t even care.
Chris sees my patience fray and shoves everyone out at the point that I’m about to snap. When he returns, I pin a pair of angry eyes on his craggy face. “I’m not doing any more of the shit for the rest of the tour. I see one VIP back here again, and you’re going to have to sell my autographed merch online to make money.”
“Fine. Fine. Do you want a car to take you back to the hotel, or do you want me to have the chef make you some dinner? Traffic is bad out there, and there’s a ton of fans waiting for you outside the tunnel.”
“You know what I want? I want a normal night. I want to go to a pub, have a drink, listen to some live music. I don’t want anyone asking me for an autograph, criticizing my songs, ask whether I’m drinking too much or smoking too much, or when my next album is out. I want none of that.” I slash my hand down.
“Do you want me to get the makeup artist in here and have them do a disguise, like old man makeup and a wig?”
“No. Those itch like hell.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“I don’t give a shit. I am tired of being cooped up in my hotel room. I haven’t seen real people for weeks. I need to get out of here before I lose my mind.”
“The fifty thousand fans you had at the concert aren’t even all out of the stadium at this point. There’s no place around here where you could go where there aren’t fans.”
“I won’t go anywhere near here.”
We stare at each other until Chris gives in. “Let me make some phone calls, and I’ll arrange something.”
I can only imagine Chris’ plan. It’s going to be some ritzy place where they serve whiskey that costs $2000 a bottle. All the men will be old cigar smokers, and the women will all be expensive side pieces, but I also know that there’s no arguing with Chris. “I’ll meet you outside.”
He smiles brightly and gives me the thumbs-up before dialing someone.
“I’m going to the john.” About twenty feet from my door, I spot a sanitation worker with a vest striped with reflective tape, gloves, and a hat. When I reach him, I pull out my wallet. “A hundred bucks for your gear.”
The man gives me a long once-over, and I can see in his eyes, recognition. I thumb out a few more bills.
He doesn’t take it. “You trying to escape, son?”
“Trying is the operative word. Can you at least give me a head start?”
He pulls off his vest. “Gotta keep the gloves, but you can have this and the hat. Keep your money.”
“Absolutely not. What you’re giving me is priceless. Use this to get your woman a nice purse or dinner or buy your daughter something she’s always dreamed of.” I pull out an even bigger wad of cash and shove it in his back pocket.
I hear my name yelled.
“Better skedaddle,” the worker instructs.
I don the vest and cap and start walking. A couple security guards rush past me, but the vest makes me invisible to them. I adjust my cap and head out into the night. My fatigue fades away, and my steps are lighter. I’m gonna have some freedom tonight. I’m going to find a place where no one knows me. I’m going to drink cheap beer, listen to real people talk, and forget, for even just a couple hours, that I’m Dylan Sign, the biggest rock star in the world.
CHAPTER 2
CLOVER
I scream as beer sprays everywhere in the keg room. “James!” I shout, shoving him out of the way. Okay, maybe it’s not so much of a shove. He moves on his own accord when I shoulder him out of the way. I’m only a few inches over five foot, so it’s not like I’m pushing anyone around.